He Keeps Her Warm
by Vedcva
Summary: He's been sending her letters while in his decay. She's trying to forget he's ever existed. (Helsa/Iceburns set four years after Frozen. Rated T to be safe.)
1. prologue

_**Disclaimer:**_ I do not nor do I claim to own Frozen and its characters.

* * *

 _ **"The**_ past can hurt.  
But the way I see  
it, you can either  
run from it, or  
learn from it."

..

Walt Disney

* * *

The faint moonlight that leaked through the bars of his cell was the only version of incandescence he had at night. The only warmth for his brothers had refused to give him the privilege of ever seeing brightness and what security it would offer him when horrors dare haunt his fathomless mind. The silence, penetrating, was the only thing to accompany him as he occupied the space in the corners, and crouched to be able to form anything coherent. Years of punishment hadn't taken out his ability to write as though he belonged to the monarchy that reigned down the lowest of the isles like the sun. It was the only thing he cherished, aside from what has been given to him out of pity. Words rained down on paper, the point of the pen skidding flawlessly as thoughts upon thoughts had been tattooed upon its pearl skin, but never an apology had been one of them. He'd known that these most likely hadn't been graced by the glower of her sapphirine hues. Nevertheless, he wrote, not to atone for what he's done, but for the sake of saying.

As he squinted and thrived hard to form anything different from what he's sent her a week ago, the queen on the other hand had indulged herself into languor. The moon had been a companion, so had been the stars that peered into her windows through thin, white curtains blown so slightly by the autumn breeze. She could feel the weight of the day upon her as she tried not to fret of what lay ahead of her and forced herself not to crease her forehead in agitation. She was only twenty-five, but already, she could feel as though she was older than what she's supposed to be. But, she countered, it was expected as she never had been for inactivity when there were things to do. Her obligations had kept her far from the curiosity she'd held for the box, and the frustrations she's had with herself when she's reminded of what she'd previously done. Sharing had never been an option, especially when the mind was too occupied with things she was better off without; hence, why she'd deflected the idea of a king beside her and had turned a cold shoulder when suitors had their feet upon her ground, and offered her various negotiations her council had salivated on.

Rolling her eyes heaven ward, the queen had dispelled these thoughts and had tended to her bed. Donned in a nightgown that winked when the silver finery of the moon had touched it, she had allowed a yawn escape her soft lips, stretching away the tension that settled in the width of her shoulders, and the length of her back. The tranquility of the night was getting to her as it sang the songs of sleep, luring them into the hay so as to call it a night. The bed dipped as she had settled underneath the ocean of pristine sheets and blankets, the heaviness that settled in her temples and between her eyes already becoming unbearable. With a wave of a hand, the breeze had picked up, a whistle being carried as it had tended to the flames of the candles, then leaving her with the darkness. She's closed this page, and planned to flip to another when morning comes, and she's donning the mask of indifference. Silently, she prayed that tomorrow would be a relief albeit knowing that it was just as bland as it always was. And before she had fully sunken into the bliss of slumber, she prayed for the living rather than the dead. If he be quiet, she'd have the peace she'd been wishing ever since her eyes had fallen onto his very first parchment.

What she didn't know that silence from the opposite end would be harder to achieve, especially with the impending situation that's waiting for the sun to rise.


	2. one

_"Some_ say, don't burn your bridges.

I say, if necessary,  
let the kerosene  
kiss it on the lips,

and watch it  
turn to ash.

There's always more than one way  
to cross the water."

..

Ruby Francisco

* * *

The morning had been eager to make an appearance.

A faint stroke of light had enveloped the starkness, giving it a pink flush and a dark hue of blue, painting it with the morn. An announcement as it stretched within the expanse and had graced the people from below with its smile-pleasant as the birds chirped and the wind hummed.

The sky was awake.

The stars that had been intricately lain out on its arms had twinkled into oblivion as the silver threads of the moon had been overwhelmed by a new reign; an hour earlier than its rise as though the gods from above had urged it to tumble out to welcome a new beginning, and a plot twist the regalia should have had seen coming.

In her chambers in the palace she lay, eyes painted close by slumber, and body twisted with a lack of grace, in directions that would inevitably cause a strain. Unaware of the vibrancy, still within the fathoms of her own thought and imagination, ingrained and unmoving, seeming as though she had no plans of rousing within the second or the hour that would proceed it. Her mouth was agape and her usual pallid visage was a plane, lacking of the creases that had dared trouble her when she had been conscious. Not a smile, though, had stained her immaculacy as she remaied the epitome of neutrality even underneath the influence of the tempest that had been slumber. Suppose it was because she was no servant to anyone, and that she never recognized any saint; or quite perhaps she remained in a limbo, and she floated in the darkness as she had rested.

Gently, the sunlight had peeked through the slit of her curtains, slowly slanting across the room to battle out the darkness. It didn't recognize any saint either as it creeped slowly, and danced around the peaceful queen until it rested atop her cheeks and teased her closed eyes. It dared to wake her, and neither fear nor respect did it bear for her. It was playful, and it was unforgiving as a caress became a harsh glower until it roused her in a state that wasn't appreciated.

Eyelids fluttered open, sapphirine hues gazing against a ceiling, steady breathing becoming unequal as she shifted before she sat. Her blankets gather at the end of her torso, and her platinum threads of hair fall on the length of her back in a stream that ended at the base of her spine. There was a certain coldness that lingered, one that had been disperesed the moment she'd come to her senses and her handmaiden had rapped on her door.

"Queen Elsa," she spoke in a manner of gentleness as though the monarch she was addressing was fragile.

 _She had been._ But that had been in the past, and it was never more than just a stain to her reputation; a reminder of what she's not supposed to be, and something left to rot at the cobwebs of her mind and everybody else's. A mockery to the strength she held now, and a thought she never wish to venture, though she had continuously failed to do so-unfortunately, _miserably so_.

The regalia frowned.

A timid _come in_ had then escaped her svelte lips, a hither to that was quiet, but enough to be heard.

The door knob glinted and it jingled as she imagined the elder would be unlocking it as she balanced whatever she had been carrying. The monarch thought of helping her, but she couldn't be bothered as a feeling was gravitating her in a way that had caused aggravation in such an early morning. Blue eyes kept still on the white, oak door, mentally counting the rosemalling as she always did when she tried to calm herself down or tried to put up a pleasant front.

In patience, she waited, until the handmaiden had put up an appearance with two young maids trailing before her with silk and shoes in their hands. A new dress. She vaguely remembered being told that Gerda had been planning on sewing her a new one in addition to the rest of hers. A sort of token or something, she couldn't quite remember.

"Good morning, Your Majesty." They spoke in unison just as she had disentangled herself from the blankets that previously pooled around her and kissed the possibility of sleeping in goodbye.

She stretched her legs as she stood, the nightgown slowly falling like a stream down her ankles. "Good morning," she returned and offered them a small smile.

Routine had followed through, and conversation had been idle to none. She'd watched them, a little detached, take measurements and tut. Absent, she'd kept her lips sealed even as they'd scrubbed her thoroughly off the dirt from the evening, and clothed her appropriately in such finery. The epitome of beauty and grace, sophistication and reservation, intellect and youth. The crown nestled snuggly on top of her golden tresses, a little thing that boasted more than a handful of power, but not more than what she could wield. A piece of gold and alloy that had men lining up for, even so much as killing to share it or to have it for themselves.

She's reminded of an incident and a certain monarch that had been stripped to nothing, a man who didn't have peace in his vernacular; a man she'd come to loathe than pity. He was man she wished not to see nor hear off, but she'd later on learn that people often didn't get what they wanted, especially in this position in the hierarchy. For now, she held onto that, basking in ignorance before she'd blinked back at her reflection, and picked at what she'd heard and had tuned out. Her handmaiden had spoken, and she hadn't been with them when it had happened. She was busy, busy mulling over things she had vowed not to look back to, and she was quite ashamed, quite vexed for even finding a connection in thoughts she'd thought she had abandoned.

"I beg your pardon?" She had echoed in response, blinking, and making it seem as though she had been dazed because of drowsiness. Pale brows had been furrowed, a crease settling among the expanse of her forehead, slightly, so as to not seem as though she had been bothered.

The elder straightened her self, and had given her shoulder a comforting squeeze; a fond and understanding smile had given her grace, one she had returned as she smoothened her features.

"The council wishes to discuss something of importance, though they didn't say." The statement had been put delicately, the woman's eyes kind towards the other as though she was speaking to one of her own, a daughter; and if Elsa squinted, she could see her mother.

She'd let a smile ease her features, blue eyes reflecting and connecting towards her handmaiden. She forced to swallow the reminder, telling herself she needn't a cup of angst in the morning, especially when there was much to do and a kingdom to govern.

"Thank you, Gerda." She had replied, a matter of dismissal as she rose, abandoning her vanity and clasping her hands in front of her lap.

Pleasantries had been exchanged and a series of _Your Highness_ had left their pale lips; before long, she was left to walk herself to the dining hall to meet her sister for breakfast.

. . .

"Elsa,"

they were never without vibrancy. In every room that had been occupied by the younger sister, colour never seemed to have faded. Humour went along with conversation, and conversation was filled with triviality and the like, things that had left from the commoners tongues being served alongside delicacies for her to ponder on or simply find humour within. Musings aloud had given such a normal thing life, ridding of any sort of silence or of staidness. Needless to say, with Anna, she'd never have to worry about misplaced quietness; never have to suppress a simple smile or withhold herself of any laughter if she found ludicrousness in a sentence.

If the conversation had died down, it was simply because the other would be taking a breath, and there hadn't been much to offer from her side of the bargain. It usually lasted a few seconds, and if seriousness may wash over such a jovial convocation, it was to address a petty little thing such as colour palettes for a dress. There was never really a problem too big to concern both sisters.

So, when she'd spoken in such softness and such neutrality, the queen had feared for the rest of the sentence. There was something in the light of her sister's eyes that had been quite telling.

"Yes, Anna?" she'd inquired when a normal flit of her gaze hadn't been enough to provoke the other to continue. Her brows had slightly furrowed as she kept her gaze, the tip of her finger tapping onto the cutlery she had held.

The redhead that had sat across her had visibly chewed on her bottom lip and had dared cast her gaze downwards. She seemed crestfallen, and Elsa had wondered if there had been trouble in paradise and if she'd need to have a serious conversation with the ice master. She hoped it wasn't something quite grave.

"I..." She had started, only to clam up and further distance herself from the other, which had raised another fit of worry from the side of the queen.

This time, she had allowed herself to incline an eyebrow, tilting her head in question. "Is there a problem?"

"No!" She said too quickly, too loudly. Anna winced. Elsa flinched. "I mean, no, there isn't a problem. It's just... It's not a problem-not yet, anyway." She paused, made a face, which had made her sister knit her brows at the center, confusion and worry present within her features. "It's well... Kind of a predicament, but not really a predicament, just a-"

" _Anna_."

Teeth clamped at her lower lip as she suffered under her sister's questioning glance, she fidgeted, inhaled, exhaled, then straightened herself. Patiently, Elsa had waited, though she knew her patience was running thin the longer tension had lingered between the both of them.

"Kristoff and I... Uh, we, uh..." She drifted her gaze away then back at Elsa. "Would like your blessing... for our marriage."

She blinked, once, twice, the silence slicing through the remnants of the redhead's outburst, highlighting the faintest ticking of the grandfather clock. Anna gripped her fork tightly, and felt her chest tighten in anticipation, teal eyes staring back at the queen with so much hope, so much _fear_. She wanted a positive answer, wanted validation from the sister she'd always longed to be around with, from someone she looked up to. She didn't want silence as it often offered things that weren't much too good, or not good at all; from what she's gone through, the pregnancy of silence was much more than a pause to think. It was a pause to put up a wall to separate the both of them, to isolate her once more, to inflict loneliness-and Anna feared that it might happen again.

"That's..." Elsa had trailed off, her eyes flickering back to her sister, luminiscent with a certain kind of happiness. A smile ghosted upon her lips, a dimple showing at the corner as she tried to speak despite the speechlessness the news had bestowed upon her. "...Wonderful, Anna. Of course, of course. You have my blessing."

There was laughter within her tone, given by happiness than of humour as one would normally think-almost breathless, more of a sigh. She'd smiled, so wide, so-so genuine, so different from the ones she normally had held. A seal from the queen, an approval-the validation the redhead had needed, had always wanted. It wasn't long before the younger one had grinned, a dust of scarlet painting the tops of her cheeks, eyes squinting as she held herself, tried to be civil. She was brighter than the sun, Elsa had concluded, better than a glare, but a soft sweep of warmth; summer after the dreadful lengths of winter. She looked beautiful, radiant.

She took pride in that.

"Thank you! Thank you!"

For thirteen years, she'd unintentionally painted sadness upon the heart of the other, and had deprived her of the warmth she knew Anna had deserved. Sweet, sweet Anna, only wanting to build a snowman, to see her, to make a connection, to feel as though she wasn't alone. She was glad they had been able to reverse the damage her parents had done in fear.

 _Fear_.

It's something she hadn't felt in quite some time, and that was pleasant. More than, to be quite honest.

"I was thinking-well, _we_ were thinking," she corrected, doing a little roll of her eyes, already at the start of a prattle that did anything but annoy the queen. "To have two weddings. Here and in the Valley of the Rocks, you know, with his family and because of the energy-God, Elsa! The energy there is so fantastic and it's so different, and kind of like home."

By then, the princess had managed to lift her off the chair and to sit at the edge of the table, the corner closest to her sister. She was holding herself, and she knew that Anna was trying to control her excitement, trying to breathe deeply, trying to take it all in.

"Whatever you want." She'd spoken once she had been certain that not another string of words would follow the previous sentence.

She as well had stood from where she had been sitting and had went beside her. Ungloved hands had held both of Anna's shoulders at arm's length, giving her a smile of assurance before she'd engulfed her in a tight hug.

"You know I only want you to be happy." She had said, above a whisper, but close enough as she rested her chin on the crest of Anna's neck.

"And I you."

The rest of the morning had been spent making plans for the wedding, ideas being tossed here and there. More than occasionally, there had been laughter, and there had been more than enough smiles that could last them a lifetime. She'd asked Anna how she was despite the obvious answer, and she had asked Elsa the same, though she prodded more as she always had. And when breakfast had ended, both sisters had left in highspirits; Anna vowed to update her as Elsa vowed to herself that she'd be more honest if she'd dare to ask of her problems however the fact she wouldn't understand most of them.

. . .

In the afternoon, she had attended another convocation, but instead of having humour within it, it had staidness. It's a part of her job that she didn't look forward to amongst other things as it always left uneasiness within her, especially when she'd disagreed to most of the propositions old men had been presenting to her in forced politeness. She was sure they had thought of her incompetent due to her age and her gender; after all, in the hushed words of Lord Veron, what did she know about politics? Arendelle's economic stance wasn't enough, and so had been the alliances she'd managed to build; not to mention the kingdom's uncompromising walls, and its fluorishing state. She'd understood where they had been coming from; a man always tended to want more despite having most of what was necessary; a man always disagreed when a woman had a more significant authority. From observation, from the books she had read, but she was strong-stronger than who she had been before. She knew not to pay much mind to their leers, and sneers. After all, she was a queen, and was more refined than to engage in such pettiness.

"Your Majesty," they'd greeted once she had entered the room, chatters dying down into hushed whispers and into nothingness.

Her eyes flitted over to the empty chair at the other end of the table, the lack of a hand a reminder what these men had been pestering her about for half a decade. She told herself she wouldn't concede. She didn't do well with sharing, and, she argued, the right time to choose would come, the right person for the position would come. They just had to be patient.

"Good afternoon, gentlemen." She paused, taking the seat gracefully, and folding her hands upon the table in a manner of calmness and authority. "I heard there was a matter you wished to discuss." The intonation suggested that it was a question, despite having it phrased in a statement of urgency, of directness she often exuded.

"Ah, yes, Your Highness." The other lord had spoken in great respect as he had straightened himself. There seemed to have been caution within his actions, and she had fought to raise a brow at such a suspicious behaviour. "The matter concerning Hans Westergard. King Klaus of the Southern Isles has sent a letter concerning the agreement you had in court, and we're waiting for a course of action on your part. If you may,"

Her Majesty's brows had been furrowed, a frown settling on her svelte lips, though ghosted as she had crossed her legs underneath the table. There was a menacing glare that had been given towards the letter that was being passed man to man until it had reached her end, until it had burned the tips of her fingers that dared to strech out from the clasp. For a moment, she feared that her powers may take the best of her, reflecting what she felt towards the matter; but then, she had to remind herself that she was better than this, that she managed to become someone she wasn't before, someone that wielded strength than had hidden herself behind the back of something supernatural or closed doors. He wasn't going to topple her resolve once more, not when she believed herself to be better than the quivering woman she had been reduced to when her emotions had gotten the best of her in the fjord.

In silence, she'd peeled the letter off the table, ignored the insigna, and unfolded the words of a king who detested his brother, who had been ashamed out of his skin for what had been done. Eyes were pinned towards her, and she was more than aware to be comfortable, but she swallowed this, and prevented herself from doing something that could be viewed as incompetence, such as dropping the room's temperature by certain degrees.

Instead of berating with a simple glance, she focused on the task at hand.

 _"Dearest Her Majesty Queen Elsa of Arendelle,_

 _A pleasant morning! I do wish that Her Majesty has experienced more than a fair morning, and would like to wish her the best of the afternoon, the evening, and the morrows to follow. I also would like to congratulate you as Arendelle continues to stand quite spectacularly. It impresses me that you've managed to repair what had been damaged due to monarchial absence, I dare say._

 _Pleasantries aside, I would like to inform you that Hans Westergard and I are due to arrive in a fortnight to discuss further punishments for his crimes towards the crown of Arendelle and the princess regnant. As agreed in the court of both Arendelle and the Southern Isles, both kingdoms would impose legal punishments in a span of five years; that is of course, if you wish not to cooperate, which would inevitably elicit another court hearing, and would further complicate the situation at hand. But, I suppose the council had informed you of the consequences if the queen wishes not to accommodate the former prince._

 _I would also like to inform you that I would like to discuss a business proposition to further fix the damage my youngest brother had made in our alliance. Hans' punishments shall also be discussed as we both had agreed that a death sentence was out of the equation. This being said, I wish you will accommodate me for two weeks in order to finally put everything at ease._

 _Respectfully yours,_

 _King Klaus of the Southern Isles"_

Silence. For a moment, she had settled with silence before deciding on reading it once more, and a second time before she'd come to a rather, emotional, decision.

"I would like to accept King Klaus' business proposition, but I cannot honor my end of the court agreement." She concluded, meticulously folding the piece of paper the way it had been when it was handed to her.

She kept her eyes level to those who dare question her decision, waiting for a specific reaction, whether it be positive or negative. She'd heard a lord clearing his voice, and had seen another scrunch his nose up in disagreement, further frowning until he sought deflection from another party. There had been a silent chorus of opposition, exchanging looks before they'd turned to the queen, some eyes pleading, others scolding.

"Your Majesty, I'm sure that doing so would only complicate our stand with the Southern Isles."

"I'm well-aware of that. I was present in the hearing five years ago." She stated, tone neutral, face the epitome of stoicism. Her blue eyes had been a shade darker, jaw quite clenched, though masked skillfully by neutrality.

"I'd like to remind you that some alliances had become possible because of the Southern Isles. If we were to sever-"

She turned to Lord Veron, who had picked up what Lord Mallory had started with much edge. She tilted her head quite so, eyes a little narrowed.

"As I said, I would accept the business proposition." She paused. "There's a significant difference between accommodating a king towards accommodating a criminal regardless if he is a former prince."

"Your Majesty, I beg of you to think this through. You had been informed of the consequences and-"

"-The meeting is adjourned. Thank you for your cooperation, gentlemen, but my decision is final. I'll send a letter in correspondence first thing in the morning right after our council."

* * *

 **Author's note:**

 **I'd like to thank you guys for giving this story a chance. I honestly didn't expect to get anything than a few clicks, but I'm really thankful for the reviews I've been given. :)**


	3. two

**_"When_** there's a big  
disappointment, we don't  
know if that's the end of  
the story. It may just be  
the beginning of a great  
adventure."

..

Pema Chödrön

* * *

There was light. Bright, warm, indescribable incandescence that ran through the expanse of exposed skin, and he thought of burning. He thought of dying, and thought of the fire within emerald eyes as it looked past the frozen fjord and right at the reflection of the man who had nothing. The man who had ambitions bigger than his head, and cruel ways to have it; the man who spoke without a trace of malice in his words, but pure intent within the phrases and the strings of sentences. A man who hid behind sophistication and grace, who now hid behind bars, behind words of flower and shame, of regret.

 _Shame._

There was a clamorous assault against wet cobble-heavy, purposeful footfalls, approaching, eliminating the silence he had been granted. There were voices-thick, cruel, and with intentions he couldn't fathom even after years of imprisonment, even after years of nothing but its cold embrace.

 _Cold._

He thought of the queen of the north; the goddess with silver threads for hair; the mother of all things cold and beautiful, who sat in her iron throne in elegance and determination, in wisdom and power. He wondered if she had pity to spare, wondered if those blue eyes had hardened just like his had over the course of five years. He wondered if his name was ever mentioned whether in mind or verbally, and wondered if it had been laced with profanities past his vernacular. Had she damned him when she'd cross her legs, and glance at those who dared to mention him with such fire within the ice? Had she ever spoken his name in such resentment, such sadness? Had she been graced with his presence in dreams to haunt her? He wondered, skimming his gaze upon the cell that housed him, noting how far he had fallen, and reminding himself there had been no peak to fall from in the first place.

The voices grew, and there was laughter that tensed his spine, breathing gelid air into his lungs. Dread settled in the creases of his forehead as his brows had been knitted upwards as if kneeling, as if begging for all of this to be done with. But, he's reminded that the queen hadn't permitted the court to resort to a death sentence. Peace was a long shot, and so had been the sleep he had been lacking of ever since remorse had erased the thirst for validation.

The dead bolt popped, echoed, shattered the illusion that they must have been here for another criminal. That's a ludicrous idea, he's told himself, as there had only been two prisoners in this labyrinth, and the other had died in his sleep a week ago. Wishful thinking, he reminded himself he's not supposed to indulge in such, especially if what he's asking for had been close to impossible.

The incadescence of the lamp carried by the guards hover, slanting against the darkness as they closed in the distance step by step. It glowed brightly amongst dank walls and wet cobblestone floors, adding a certain drama onto footsteps, and it's then he's noticed that the laughter and the conversation had died into a bout of silence.

Shadows of figures, tall and robust devour the light, becoming bigger as they approach, creating quite a monster. But, there wasn't fear within him; there had only been a void. A man had settled before him, face devoid of any audacity he often had exuded as another dressed in finery had settled beside, and despite the lack of light, he could determine that it was Klaus. The sentry slid the key, unlocking, then falling back to accommodate His Highness, who entered with grace and a stoic visage.

He tried to guess what they were here for, though there wasn't much speculation as it always had been either the stables or a beating. But still, he thought of it, thought of something to appease the hushed tones within his head, giving them a glance of the possibilities that had always been impossible.

He lifted his chin up to be able to make out a clearer version of the two figures that dare enter what had been a home to him for half a decade. There hadn't been much change, nothing, he supposed, too obvious that could easily be seen despite the faint light. There were no words he could offer to exchange with the silence that had grown heavier. He used to have a few, but his vernacular had been reserved to himself when the anger had died down into waves of the unknown.

The monarch went in like a sweep, graceful as if dancing as he kept his gaze at the disgrace, and held his tongue back, swallowing the insults that threatened to break the ice. He'd grown tired of mocking him when he seemed not to care, when he lacked the emotion that had been required to be able to elicit a desirable opposition. All he could ever give now was a glower, but even that had died down when conscience had snuck behind him like a snake.

"It's time, Hans." He'd spoken with gentleness and with the necessary edge a king should have when addressing a criminal.

 _It shouldn't have ended like this._

"For?" He'd asked, though he knew what had been meant; his fate was to be decided in the shores of Arendelle, in the presence of an elegant queen seated on an iron throne.

Already, he could feel the luxury of death being taken away from him.

The king tried to fight off impatience, knowing that the question had been posed to prolong their encounter, to make him uncomfortable. Even at this state, he had known that there was still a flame within his younger brother he dared to use on occasion.

"The queen hasn't sent a correspondence, but we shall sail to Arendelle to continue your sentence." The king had stated, the flurry of words sounding as though they had been sung; a painful melody, teasing and trying to taunt him with what was ahead.

He didn't seem to falter. "Wouldn't that worsen the circumstances?" There was no apology within him, and though he'd developed something _human_ , he still had hidden himself behind the façade of a man who held too much pride, too much snark for his own good.

His Highness' viridiscent eyes had grown sharp—a warning. "You're one to speak."

"I just care about the welfare of the kingdom." He shrugged in nonchalance, diverting his gaze elsewhere, pursing his lips, playing fire with fire.

He scoffed. "The queen's not stupid enough to deny justice."

"But she's not stupid enough to have both of us step into her kingdom once more." He countered, meeting the molten stare, smirking, though empty.

"You're simply playing me." He uttered, the edge becoming more biting, the stance changing. He'd gotten to him. "What do you want, Hans?"

"Does it matter?" He tilted his head as if studying the other, daring, inviting him to take the plunge. "All I'm saying is, be careful. Being crass would only sever the ties."

The king had scoffed once more, shaking his head as the corners of his lips began to tug upwards, initiating a humourless smile. He was in absolute disbelief, in utter annoyance as he stood his ground, as he tried to rid the other off from underneath his skin. He'd wanted to slap off the smirk, but it'd be predictable, it'd be exactly what the former prince wanted. He never did understand the other, how his mind worked in such an expanse. Most of them had been cruel, but he was far from that—he was something else, a combination of colours that dare change when the situation presented it. His cruelty wasn't defined by his personality, but with the person he was with—a _mirror_.

Despite the realization, despite the caution that was within the back of his mind, he scowled at the statement. "A warning from a man who'd been the very reason why our ties with Arendelle are fragile? This is ludicrous." He'd shaken his head, green eyes hardening, jaw clenching as he flexed his fingers, forcing himself to calm down from the high.

"A tip, not a warning." He replied, echoing the edge, countering the glower with far greater brightness though his light within had long ago dimmed. "You can ignore it; after all, you are the king. Just don't say I didn't tell you."

And his temper was rising, roiling as he'd heard every hint of sarcasm, of mischief. "Are you branding me a fool?"

"Brother, I never suggested; it was implied."

He'd forced himself to count to ten, to blur out the thirteenth son, the twelfth brother, the youngest, the _mirror_. "Símeon, escort Prince Hans to the castle. He needs to look acceptable."

"It's _Hans_. I'm no longer a prince, or did you forget that tiny detail?" He raised an auburn brow, a curled flame dangling between the brows.

His Majesty had simply ignored him, or he at least tried, squaring his shoulders, keeping a firm ground. "We leave tonight. Pray for mercy because God knows she won't."

"I don't think He'd hear me." He replied, a grin replacing the simper; empty, full of the purpose to push his buttons. "And I don't think I'd need it."

* * *

It jostled, and it pushed; it punished and it never forgave. The wind was relentless and the ocean a livid lover, giving the sailors the taste of peril as it urged the passengers to kneel and pray. There was a storm coming, said the captain, but it was too late to divert the ship as they were farther from the kingdom's ground. With two wet fingers raised, he'd concluded that the billow was headed to the east and there wasn't much to ponder about; he'd also fancied a tale about the king of the seven seas having pity on them, mere mortals, for they resembled the husband of the seventh daughter, the favourite. Most of the royalty and blue bloods deemed it to be madness; the sailors and those who know the sea more than they knew their name, otherwise.

The man with hair that resembled the flames of a hearth was behind bars; a servant to the mold of the Cassandra and its hardened floors. Without a blanket to warm him and sans a pillow, he was left to deal with the juggle with more than a few bumps against the bars and the bucket he was left with. He was used to it after half a decade rotting in a cell that could barely accommodate him, becoming a companion of the moon and the listener of the nonsensical whispers the wind had made. It wasn't much to dwell on despite the cold that had embraced him and had made him a slave; despite the thunder that rocked him out of focus.

But they had easily faded into the darkness of the night when he had been granted with a quill and a parchment; the only privilege he's ever been given for the past five years. The bucket's mouth kissed the floorboards as its bottom served the former prince as a substitute table.

* * *

 _Her Majesty, Queen Elsa of Arendelle,_

 _The ocean's not the friendliest as we travel bound north for negotiations with certain kingdoms, or so that's what the sentry had told me in a gruff. We're visiting Corona first, to strengthen ties, I presume, and to be able to secure loyalty if Weselton's threats would appear as it was imposed to be. I've heard that the kingdom was a burst of the heavens, an extension of the sun, having heard that it had been blessed with a flower that healed the queen and had helped the princess live out twenty years of her life. It's a contrast from what we are experiencing now, though the captain had stated that we shouldn't let worry colour our skin._

 _It's told that the king of the seven seas, should he exist, had instilled pity amongst us having shared quite a few remarkable features with a son-in-law. I also gathered that the aforementioned kin through marriage was a prince near the Atlantic, though I haven't heard of a union between a man and a merfolk despite having spent my days in a place where I wasn't required to be social. And even if I wanted, I'd have been sent to some place else, but now that I thought of it, I suppose the confinement with doctors would have been better than being within my brothers reach. Though, it would have been quite the impossible._

 _The coldness reminds me of you, I dare say. When I have stepped onto the Cassandra and felt the sweep of the harsh air upon my face, I'd had toyed with the idea that you might have caught wind of what my brother has planned to do despite your lack of correspondence. If this thought had ever crossed my mind months after my trial, I would have considered the idea to be ludicrous, but ever since I had been hit by a pile of snow that had come out of nowhere in spring as I was in the stables four years ago, the impossible was possible. It wasn't much of a surprise when the thing had suddenly become something else. A big, pile of white with arms and legs; eyes and wide grin—the only thing missing was a nose, and it would have passed for a snowman that had gone wrong under the sun. It was talkative, to the point that it had served me as a companion when I had been sentenced to sleep in the stables amongst the royal horses. I had been wary of its presence at first, but had grown to be fond of it, having nothing but pen and paper to aid me when I was at my mind's end. It lasted long enough to earn a name from me—Snø. I wasn't much creative with names as I had named my horse and my best comrade after a lemon since its mane bore likeness to its hue; so, you couldn't entirely blame me for having to resort to the most trite one I could ever give a snowman—or a melted one, per se. Snø had been kind and she had listened (it's quite comical to brand it with a gender, but it reminded me of you for obvious reasons), though most of our conversations had been one-sided, if not for the occasional nod of a head—or a shake of her whole body, in her case. She was appreciated, and she had reminded me of what I had lost out of miscalculation, and out of underestimating you._

 _I don't regret it. I never really regret the actions I take despite the consequences. Though, what I wish to have a second chance to have proceeded in a different tactic, to have followed the plan I had initially played out as I was sailing to Arendelle. I should have chosen you, and I could have lived a life with love and adoration from Her Majesty, and the people. I would have received validation. Though, I have my doubts that it would go as smoothly as I had initially projected it to be, having known you now, of course_

 _Your Majesty, you are a perfect judge of character. You were able to see right through me when Anna had asked for your blessing, and it had happened again when you had seen me; you knew that I had an ulterior motive despite being able to stop you from killing them, despite having used such a banal sentence to appease to your demons. Yes, Your Majesty, I dare say that you have demons within you. There was hesitation within your eyes when I had urged you to let them go, when I had coaxed you out of a scandal you were to make—the flicker suggested that you were torn between the thought of becoming a saint or a murderer. We are very much alike in more ways than you'd think, and I know that I wouldn't have been able to pull it off had I been granted to do it all over again in a different approach._

 _We'd always end up in such a disappointment._

 _Snø had melted away when she had lost her way one night. The commoners had managed to get a hold of her, and it's from a kid who's always sold me newspapers that had informed me of my own loss. I grieved for her in my own way. Tucked it in like a memory, and had decided to move a step forward even though I wasn't getting anywhere. It's when I thought of writing to you. To honour the life of a snowman that's never meant to live, and perhaps to have something to do when boredom would tend to elongate my days. Either of which, I don't really mind._

 _I'd write to you about the stars, but sadly, all I can see is mold creeping amongst the corners and a lonesome moon winking at me from what little view I have of the sky._

 _Respectfully,_  
 _Hans Westergard_

* * *

"Your Majesty, I've received a letter from King Klaus of the Southern Isles about their departure last night."

"I have declined his brother any sort of accommodations."

"His Highness may not have received the letter as he is due to arrive in Corona tomorrow. They must be currently at sail."

She frowned as she flexed her fingers within the confinement of her gloves and thought of keeping them despite Anna's protests.

"I want to deny the Southern Isles permission to dock on Arendelle soil."

He gasped, and they raised their brows in such panic. The room was strung, and their hearts had beaten in a flurry. Pale, cold, some red with anger.

"Your Majesty, the Southern Isles is valuable for trade."

"Arendelle can do well without. We have other alliances." Her frown had deepened, and the temperature seemed to suffer.

"This is an act of war."

* * *

 **Author's note: I wasn't actually sure how to proceed since I didn't really planned out the first chapter's ending, lol. It's probably messy, but I think one thing's clear. Hans is like a mirror; he reflects whatever personality or attitude is being exuded by someone who's around him. He's self-loathing and remorseful when alone; he's arrogant and cruel when he's with a brother; he's manipulative, and tactless when writing to Elsa. And I suppose the quote above implies what's about to happen after this filler, Hans having implied that both he and Elsa was a disappointment that's always bound to happen; of course, that's without the romantic sense, referring to the idea of the crown five years ago and the idea of forgiveness-or reading his letters, per se.**

 **I loved the reviews I've gotten, thank you! Though I don't want to sound greedy, but leave a review to let me know if I'm doing okay?**


	4. three

**" _Remember_ ,** she was made of  
bravery and resilience. Women like  
her will survive the storms that  
raged before her... even the ones  
she named after you."

..

Sarah Jean Bowers

* * *

Clasped hands, tightly wounded fingers, knuckles painted in crimson, face devoid of any trace of emotion, of expression. Stoicism was a colour she often wore as she aligned her spine against the backrest, straight as a pin, chin held high, thighs pressed together and legs crossed at the ankles. Her sapphirine eyes were crystal cut and defined sharply; a deep trench no one dared to discover its fathoms in fear of being swallowed whole, and not being able to resurface. A single tendril of the lightest flaxen mane hovered above one pale brow as she coerced herself to stay calm and to pocket the anger she had felt for the doubt the council have positioned at her feet.

Conceal, don't feel.

A mantra that had always worked, a talisman despite her choice to embrace what she was, who she truly was. She knew what she was capable of, and knew that it was vital to take precautionary steps, especially when in the presence of a council that had proposed nothing but questions of her commands. She supposed she needed better people for the job as most of them had burned out, and had done nothing but stick to traditions and superstitions that hadn't aided Arendelle in the most favourable way. It was a downfall, and the kingdom had been fortunate she had been able to push through their barriers.

Arendelle thrived, despite it all. A flourishing kingdom in the hands of a young maiden who knew more than just to weave ice and snow out of nothing. A kingdom monarchs lusted for, and had seen as a threat economically and politically; something she'd taken pride in despite the second guessing, something that had always protected her from the advances of the lords before her. Question her as they may, the status of the kingdom prevented them from doing anything but retaliate; she believed that it was the question of sexuality that had them held to their throats. A queen never reigned alone as tradition had always put it. Marriage before the crown; settlement between kingdoms had been a must. They wanted a king, but Elsa had been fortunate when Larvik's prince had chosen to sever the engagement and marry on his free will. It caused quite an uproar when the letter had been received and read, though nothing was to be rectified as the alliance between the two kingdoms was still in place, if not strengthened. But of course, this had been none of their concerns as they grieved over a decision that they believed she could have stopped, holding it as a grudge they dared to scar her with whenever they had the chance.

"Gentlemen," her voice had been as calm as the waves of the fjord, but held a certain depth that boasted authority. Her blue eyes flickered towards the members of the council, the lords that served her father — Lord Mallory and Lord Fredrik, the kindest and the only few that supported, if not agreed with, her decisions — and those that had been endorsed by Trødonheim and Stålvanger — Lords Andreas, Verøn, and Lars, the majority that dared push her buttons every step of the way.

The men had stated their pleasantries, in unison giving her the banal statement of the morn before proceeding to hush and to divert expectant eyes over at the monarch. She considered adding three members to even out the count as she thought of endorsing younger men who'd seen an adequate amount of the world, and who knew past the traditions held dear by the others.

"I understand I've caused such a panic yesterday. You had every right to meet in discreet," she paused as she gave them a glance, sapphirine hues ever so sharp as she studied every man present. "I also admit that my decision had been rather emotional for I have decided as a woman before a queen."

An apology was about to clamber out of Lord Fredrik's mouth, but this she had dismissed with a simple raise of a hand.

"Gentlemen, I am aware of the consequences of what my decision would entail. While a war would be unnecessary, I would like to remind you of the fleet that we possess and of the alliances we had been able to strengthen in both military and economic. We are stronger than the Isles, and I do believe that His Highness, King Klaus would be smart enough not to wage a war against a kingdom that'd usurp them in a blink of an eye.

If the economy is the problem that dared crease your foreheads, I would also like to remind you of how their numbers pale in comparison to ours. The Isles simply provides us with lumber and threads. Lumber can easily be found elsewhere, and with what I gather, iron is most preferred in the age of industrial progression. Threads are the main export in Fjorø and Corona; I'm reminded that both of my cousins reign in both kingdoms, to our advantage.

Gentlemen, I hope the meeting you held last night wasn't about your concerns about the aforementioned consequences, but about a potential charge for treason." The queen paused, tilted her head as one pale brow had been raised, asking a question that needn't to be mentioned.

"You are aware that as queen, I have been raised as an heir to the throne, faced books older than you are, and conversed with men my senior. I spent my days and nights by my father's side, taking notes even after the kingdom decided that it was best to resort to isolation. While you may have advised great kings and queens before I've had come of age, your opinions and suggestions fall second to mine. You are here to advice and support me, and you have not. You've disappointed me with talk of tradition and by making it a point that I do not fit in this position.

Therefore, I have considered of adding three more members into the council. Men who know what's out there, and know that traditions falls behind what must be done in order to prevail. I've toyed with the idea of replacing most of you, or simply ridding myself of a council, but that may be so bold and I sense that you would talk — not that I am naïve to believe that you wouldn't do so after this as I have put you in certain circumstances. I am the deciding vote." She straightened her back, unclasped her hands and smoothed her palms on her lap.

The men stared, some gaped as they tried to muster up the words to oppose her.

"And to address your concerns about the decision I've made, I will not wage a war against the Isles and would accept both brothers in my kingdom.

If that is all, then the meeting is adjourned. You do have a great day, gentlemen. If you'll excuse me."

The queen stood with grace, letting a smile slip past her lips in a manner of respect before turning her back and leaving the lords to process what had transpired in the hour.

* * *

In the afternoon when the softness had become a sharp blue, and clouds cleared the path for the sun, the queen had found solace in the gardens, surrounded by flowers blooming in abundance and trees that shadowed those below them. She sat by a bench, thumbing a petunia on her lap, sapphirine eyes trained elsewhere, out of focus as she listened to the whistle of the wind and the distant clamour of the stewards that went about the palace.

There was tension that had settled on the planes of her shoulders, far greater than what she usually had experienced on a daily basis serving as queen of Arendelle. The gravity pressing her further that had forced her mood to plummet, endorsing anger and frustration into her bloodstream. Though she had usually spoken her mind, what had transpired in her study was something she had frowned upon. At certain times, she'd have to put her foot down, but how she had addressed them seemed to have gone out of hand. She had meant to inform them about her decisions, but having confirmed her suspicions that they had more than doubted her, a fire was kindled, and that flame devoured gentleness when she had laid her eyes upon the sources of whispered words.

An exhale was let out; an exhale made out of frustration and exhaustion of having to deal with the same surmount of problems once more. The council had done nothing, but question her motives, intellectual suggestions thrown out the window as they raised speculative brows every time she opened her mouth.

She wondered how her father had dealt with this.

Her gaze had fallen onto the lone flower she held, noticing that it had taken up a hue different from what it had originally been. She mentally chided herself for letting her capabilities get the best of her, for unconsciously letting the ice capture something so delicate and ruin it. It was clear that she was bothered, and she was beyond the edge to retract her steps.

Toying the petal, she skimmed the pad of her thumb over the frost that ate away the petunia's warmth. The ray of different colours exuded by the combination of sunlight and ice eliciting awe and a smile upon her features, calming her even for a second. She wondered if it would get worse when the man would step foot on her shores, when she would finally become face to face with the person who dared to take her life and her sister's, the person who had the audacity to write to her. Would control be far-fetched? Would she have to retreat to her castle that sat at the top of the North Mountain? Would he be able to penetrate her walls and take her down?

She didn't have an answer for it, and before she could ever come to a certainty, she'd caught a figure through her periphery. The queen tilted her head, shifting to slightly face the man that belonged to her council, a man she could tolerate.

"Lord Mallory," she stated, a brow slightly raised as a ghost of a smile had encompassed her lips. "What can I do for you?"

He returned the gesture, the corners of his lips disappearing into the salt-and-pepper moustache, creases settling by the apples of his face. "Your Grace, may I join you?" He inquired, beckoning to the space by her side.

She nodded, permitting him to invade her time alone. "Does this have to do with the prince of the Southern Isles? Should you wish to know what punishment I have for him?" She allowed herself to incline an eyebrow, tilting her head as she covered a hand over the frosted petunia by her lap.

"Ah, I'm not here for politics, Your Grace." He replied as he settled in the seat, body turned to the side, verdant hues seeking the queen's.

"Then enlighten me why of all places had you chosen this certain spot in the gardens." It was posed as a statement, but there was a certain intonation that demanded an answer from the lord.

"Your father would be so proud of you." He supplied as his features had softened, and the exchange had diverted into an exchange between a surrogate uncle and a niece. "I know the council has put quite a pressure onto you, and I apologize on their behalf, but I want you to know that you are on the right path; don't let their doubts dissuade you from doing what you think is right."

The queen's features had softened and she'd let her gaze fall onto her lap, letting out a sigh. "Thank you," she replied, glancing back at the elder. "I... Did my father... How had he handled this with such finesse?"

Colour settled upon her usual pallid, highlighting Her Majesty's cheeks. In the presence of a man closest to her father, she felt much her age as though the weight of the world on her shoulders had faded into dust; and she was a mere princess with much to learn.

There was softness and fondness, one he had spared for both monarchs whenever he had the chance to be around them in the shortest of time. "Just like you have." He placed a hand on her shoulder, giving it a gentle and comforting squeeze before dropping it to his lap. "You are you father's daughter."

Elsa had smiled, her gaze dropping once more to the exposed petunia, picking at its petals and watching dusts of frost fall from where it had clung.

"So they tell me," she replied, at peace with it, knowing she's given her father pride even if he wasn't there to see it for himself. "Do you ever miss it, Fjorø? You've been here for too long; Arya must miss you." A change of topic, one she had always opened whenever they delved into this kind of conversation.

His shoulders rose and fell in a shrug as he cast his glance over at the bushes, finding interest in a lone squirrel. "We exchange letters routinely." He told her, a small smile flitting across his lips before he turned to the queen with amusement glinting in those verdant eyes. "Say, is this your way of trying to get rid of me?"

A chuckle had been emitted and she had shaken her head so as to deny it before thanking him for supporting her like a father would have a daughter. Later, they parted ways; the lord walking back to his section of the castle and the queen disappearing in the depth of her room.

* * *

When the sun had finally plummeted in its place behind the clouds and the moon had risen to illuminate the starkness that replaced the blue, the queen had found herself kneeling by the side of her bed, head tucked underneath as she crouched to the level of its gape. There was a lamp that sat beside her as she squinted her eyes, scanning through the space before her, trying to make out the jewelry box she'd hid from herself. She'd thought of circumstances such as this, but never really had imagined doing it as she had often been taunted by impulse. She only reached for it whenever she had to stack another letter to the number within its fathoms. What possessed her, it was completely lost to the queen.

Perhaps, she'd been compelled to read at least one of them to be able to assess the character that would grace her with his presence in two weeks time. To be able to appease the demons from her past, to forgive or to understand why he'd refused to apologize but went ahead with bombarding her letter after letter in routine; never failing to write in such length, often sending her with a thickness she never allowed herself to open until now.

She wanted to get to know the devil that swung his sword above her head; the fiend who humiliated her sister, and deteriorated her spirit of hope; the husk of a man she'd spoken to in the dungeons, and the sly snake that slithered when she had turned her back. Despite the disgust she had felt for him, there was still confusion that settled within her, that had made her wonder how can a man be so malleable. How can a man be so easily persuaded with what had surrounded him? She wanted to know the mechanics of his game before he'd set foot on her shores, and dare her to play a piece. She didn't want to be bested, not when he almost had, not again.

For Anna. For the people. For a peace of mind.

The pads of her fingers skimmed a slightly coarse object, the ridges of jewels adorned on its body accumulating little dust, clinging onto her skin like leather. She pulled the box closer to her, taking her head out from underneath, letting the sheets fall beside before settling onto her calves. She'd set the purple encasement on her lap, exhaling, closing her eyes as she'd tried to soothe her nerves, feeling the ice at the tips of her fingers.

Conceal, don't feel.

A shaky breath had been elicited and the temperature had dropped gradually, much to her displeasure. Carefully, she had lifted the cover, simultaneously fluttering her eyes open, blue meeting the purple and gold grandeur of what held his musings. What welcomed her had been perfectly stacked letters of beige, held together with a red ribbon, so vibrant it stood out even at the faintest of lights. The queen had undone the tie, freeing what had been held for so long, a confirmation that she was finally doing it, finally allowing herself to be acquainted with the thoughts of a man who almost robbed her sister's life, and hers.

She had reached out from the bottom, taking it out and into the open, ridding it off its confinement for her to see, to venture on its words. Another exhale had been let out as she then had cast a glance at the door before letting it fall onto the thick envelope she had held. Freeing the contents with a letter opener, she then had reminded herself that this was nothing short of prodding on old wounds that took too long to heal, and too shallow to be even considered as such.

* * *

Her Grace, Queen Elsa of Arendelle,

The death of a beloved had urged me to address you in this sense; the audacity being filtered by the sorrow of someone's passing. Your Majesty, I am not here for your pity, rather for the entertainment while I am at my wits end, having to spent most of my days in the royal stables and in the shelter of a cell within another bastille — a labyrinth, as I'd like to call it to make it more dramatic. An urge to entertain thyself (do I have a chance to be considered a poet such as Shakespeare and Maslow?) underneath the glare of a distant lamp hung outside these bars that confine me.

Letters are intimate, as said by those that sheltered themselves in the naïveté of books that illusion reality, creating a sense of sparkle — a fairytale, a happy ending for the souls that suffer. In this sense, perhaps you had been expecting an apology. Your Majesty, I do not wish to be so brusque or rude, but I will not be apologozing for the actions I have done. I do not regret it, nor would I ever do so in the distant future, and that would harbour insincerity, something I'm not proud of despite myself. And so, defeats the purpose of letters as intimacy is out of the question, and this was simply done to quell my thirst of having to converse with someone, or rather, write to.

When I had been young, I had always longed for a friend through correspondence (we are not the slightest of friends considering the circumstances of how we met and had left each other's lives, but this is the closest I could get), having grown up in a place sans companionship that bordered pleasant and friendly. I envied my brothers then, those who had been graced to have as such as they were betrothed to princesses from the farthest of countries. Being the thirteenth son, I didn't have such privilege. Perhaps, you've had, but I doubt it, Arendelle tending to break tradition, betrothal a concept so foreign. And if your kingdom had honoured such a thing, perhaps we may have been betrothed, and things might have end ed differently; garnering love that we have been deprived of, and quite possibly saving ourselves from our own kind of destruction. Becoming better people, especially I as you seem to have excelled in that despite the circumstances.

I applaud you, admire you, though I loathe you. You are the epitome of perfection; something seeming so pure that makes me want to taint, to bend. A part of me wished that I shouldn't have stopped you from the murder you were about to commit and to unfurl you from the layers of a saint. It would have been easier to kill you, but I had been too keen on preserving the purity you held, or the sense of it. Or maybe I had wanted to see the glint of rage in those blue eyes, and the hesitation you had exuded when I had spoken. I saw myself in you; a reflection of who I am, though you seemed to be a better version. A version of myself I wish to have had before I've miscalculated, and had let greed ruin what I had in mind. If I would have persisted being the man I had posed myself to be, perhaps I would have brought you back to your kingdom with a promise of courtship, and the opportunity to become a consort. Perhaps, I would have been like you.

You are strong. When you entered the royal court in the Southern Isles with your chin raised high, and hands clasped on the forefront, I've seen no trace of fear within you. You've spoken in such a great sense and power that I had chided myself for not even trying to pursue you as I had initially planned. I have to blame Anna for that. It was admirable, and it made me resent you, especially when you had declined the offer of sentencing me to my demise.

Why?

You aren't as good as people perceive you to be; true you have isolated yourself to protect your sister, but you have a flame within you, a certain madness only I can attest to. We both know redemption is out of the question, yet you answered in such a way that made you crumble into a fidgeting fool; a woman with uncertainty and pity clouding her judgment. You confuse me. You could have had my head, but you had reasoned out that it wasn't how your parents had raised you; you almost killed men who would have done the same thing as I, yet you denied the opportunity to have mine. A spectacle, that is what you are. I'd be a fool to expect an answer as you thrive in becoming a mystery; a woman with hidden agendas, much in comparison to myself.

Respectfully,  
Hans Westergaard

* * *

A glower had been spared to the collection of letters within the encasement, frost being sewn onto the one she had held. A scowl had settled onto her features as she had been served questions she had long ago left unanswered, fueling the uncertainty she had within back when she had made a decision, back when she had acted on an impulse.

She had placed the compilation back as they were, sliding the envelope beneath the stack, and retying the ribbon. She glanced at the gape of her bed, deciding for a moment before she had closed the lid and stood with the box nestled in the coldness of her palms. She placed it on her boudoir before she could even think of feeding it to the flames of her hearth. Needless to say, curiosity had the queen held to the throat, and she hadn't had the slightest of pleasant feelings towards such.

* * *

 **I honestly appreciated the feedback I received the previous chapter, thank you! Reviews mean a lot to me; it helps me stay motivated, and helps me determine if readers like where the story is going. Any kind is acceptable, so if you have the time to leave me a review, please do so. I'd really appreciate it.**

 **I wasn't supposed to write the part with the other Lord, but perhaps, I wanted to expand Elsa' s acquaintances or friends. I don't want her or Anna to be only confined with the Corona monarchs, and with Kai and Gerda. And I suppose that section of the chapter shows what's inside that hardened shell.**

 **As for the first letter Elsa received from Hans, it's a confirmation that he has no interest in apologizing, and isn't the least interested in feeling remorse. Perhaps, the remorse he'd ever feel would have been towards the fact that he's chosen Anna instead of Elsa as stated in the previous chapter. Comparisons would come normal in his letters as he often feels as though Elsa and he are the same. This is inspired by a tumblr text post by lisuli79, explaining why Hans isn't the best character in the movie and why his sociopath-ic ways isn't something to be romanticized. Hans strikes me as a character who wouldn't regret his actions, rather the miscalculations he had made; needless to say, he's someone who'd do it all over again, only differently to get what he wants. And he thinks, there's a version of himself in her that could have been achieved if he had what she had.**

 **This has become a long author's note, but I felt like I had to explain. Happy reading!**


	5. four

**"My** past is  
an armor  
I cannot  
Take off,  
no matter  
how many times  
you tell me  
the war  
is over."

Jessica Katoff

* * *

It's easy to go unnoticed.

In a palace filled with thirteen children clawing for attention, it's easy to harbour some kind of supernatural power. Though in my case, becoming invisible wasn't anything supernatural, it was just the state of my being. A default I've been blessed, or rather cursed (a term I've utilized in my younger years when I haven't seen the advantage of disappearing without becoming a liability, unless of course, I was needed for a royal duty) with that I couldn't rid off. In some cases, I've led myself to believe that it may have been supernatural, that it wasn't simply because the king and queen had too many children than they had anticipated (which I believe, of course, was complete rubbish as they should have known better than to procreate when they've already had enough right after the fifth of us had been born (ah, that sounds as though I've been regretting my own birth, at which in some point of my life, I had, and probably would in what days would grow ahead of me), but of course, what could you expect when boredom nags at them and they've considered their children as something closer to a trophy?).

I was a wishful thinker back when I had been a child. A naïve redhead that believed that there were somehow brighter days ahead of the dull that I had been subjected to for as long as I had been brought in the Westergaard household-or rather, palace. I believed that there had been more than just a light at the end of the tunnel-something brighter.

I held onto this as I was sailing to Arendelle.

See, Queen Elsa, my intentions were never pure in the first place, but they never had included blood.

You were that bright light, that opportunity to escape the darkness that had surrounded me; the more than the light at the end of the tunnel, the sunshine. You had always been preferable, and I had intended to pursue you in order to get a taste of liberation.

I wanted you because you promised me freedom from the shackles that binded me to a place that had done nothing but sneer at me. I never wanted you for the crown; initially, of course, it was for the taste of freedom. Validation came right after when I had thought it through and had weighed the advantages and the disadvantages. The crown had been a bonus, but the greed for opportunity had blinded me (oh, I don't regret it, no; at least no one could ever tell me that I hadn't tried, because I did-in extreme measures, if I do say so myself).

Surely, you can't blame me for using you and your sister as a pawn for freedom.

Amongst the rest, I believe you of all people should understand my thirst for freedom. You and I, we are bounded by our bloodline, a certain responsibility, and a melancholia. Shackled by solitude, and the sadness, keeping us imprisoned, barring us from reaching our potential. Both of us had led ourselves to believe that somehow a fairytale, or rather a happy ending was possible to such as ourselves, poor unfortunate souls without no one else to turn to, that had flown to high, only to be burned and crashing into waves of mistakes, of our pasts.

At least, you had been able to achieve what it was that you had wanted, while I rot in a cell that I was destined to be in.

But the question lingers, is it what you have always wanted? Was this the liberation you've spoken of in hushed tones, under the glare of a candle light as you stare ahead of the dark horizon, piercing blue eyes upon the stars? Are you where you want to be?

I am not where I want to be, if the question had been posed to myself instead of Her Grace (ah, I believe I have forgotten to address you at the beginning of the letter, my sincerest apologies). As you know, I've wanted a life out these bars, literal and metaphorical, that at some point of my life (I have a lot of points, do I?) I had craved living a life of a vagabond, stripped of a title; a normal man with freedom at the very tips of his fingers. Funny how I've only managed to achieve one of those. A man of no titles. A former prince that shamed the sacred name of the Westergaard-as if they hadn't been tainted quite so before. Ah, the beauty of a cruel fate.

Like a thief in the night, I had then escaped the confinement, without any regalia, I had plotted to sail somewhere the ship might lead me. Squeezing myself in crates for trade, that's how I imagined my journey would be. But alas, I had been halted by the king, and the man I was to address as my father with a promise that treatment shall be better; and he did these by sticking a boot to my gut, a sneer to come after, then a sentence to stay within my quarters until I was needed by naval officers.

I don't want your pity.

I was simply telling a story; something I'm sure you'd find a certain relation (though I know that King Agdår wouldn't had been so cruel. I had met the man before in more than one occasions; business and political settlements that had required my presence. There had been a time as a naval officer, I had been asked to help aid his men-a promise that once I be able to ascend as an Admiral, I would serve him. I held onto that. He was a great man, someone I had aspired to become, though such things had failed when I'd forged myself to become a criminal. Ah, I can already see you flinching) to as you've always felt too much of things. And I know for certain that at a point in your life, you felt as though you were as misfortunate as I (which would have been true, though your version seems to have been done in good intentions).

Perhaps, you've heard about the tale I had been in on amongst the crowd of peasants. The tale of the excess Westergaards; the tale of the damned. The tale of the thirteenth prince, and the curse that had come along with it-of unfortunate circumstances, and luck that seemed to have faded. The start having been the demise of the queen, and the end being the demise of a reputation when he, who be damned, had decided to commit regicide-or at least had tried.

Perhaps, you've heard, but I was told that I wasn't worthy of attention; maybe the possibility wasn't quite so.

I have no idea why I am sharing these pieces of information to Her Majesty. Perhaps, it may have been the lack of muse, having been confined to this cell for so long. I've never seen sunlight for quite some time-a month, it may have been, and you are the one to blame.

Ah, yes. Why should I blame thee?

For thee had declined me of the pleasure of thy death, succumbing me into a fate much worse than having been gone.

Alas, I may ask why Her Majesty has not sought the opportunity to rid of me? Perhaps, Her Grace has something much more cruel to satisfy her? Perhaps, there is indeed a monster within, hiding amongst the façade of a saint, of a goddess.

But, my dear, goddesses could be so taint, much more alike with the gods that fill their days with laughter about the misfortune of their pawns.

A goddess is not a saint, my dear. And you are very much so; not a saint, but a tempest.

Sincerely,  
Hans Westergaard

* * *

It was letter after letter, thought after thought. In times when she's had time within her palms, she had spent every second confined in the library, underneath the glare of a candlelight, shielded by a letter she cradled within her svelte fingers.

She reasoned it was to appeal better to the person she'd be facing, to better understand who she was to deal with. A tactic her father and mother had done, or so she'd like to convince herself to find a definite reason to what she was doing. There was guilt within the walls, something she's been trying to justify, to forget as she had helped Anna with the arrangements of the wedding that was to happen in three months time. It's something she'd been trying to appease by saying that she was doing this for one last time, but every promise seemed to be so futile whenever she'd find herself clutching onto the jewelry box and trying to find reason to resound within.

Fingers wrapped around the red ribbon, she's branded herself a liar as she unfolded what was within once more.

This is going to be the last time, she promised, she hoped.

* * *

The morning broke through in slow strokes, the winter season dangling by the corners, clawing at the edges to pull the warmth back into the covers. The monarch that had been within the sheets had been easily roused, eyelids fluttering, a groan passing at the back of her throat at the realization that morning had come, and there was less than a day to worry about the arrival of the man behind paper.

The council had demanded her decision, whether to let the former prince rot in a cell or be rid of him, transporting him in one of the small islands that had surrounded the kingdom. The queen wasn't for certain which she had preferred, and wasn't quite sure if she wanted this be dealt with. If she could have had her way, she would have sent him back from whence he'd come, and offer certain negotiations with the King so as this to be accepted than posed against her.

She had also toyed with the idea of having him serve her as an envoy in Corona; in that way, she wouldn't have to face him unless necessary. But she knew that it would be unwise to have him as such, especially when the chances of this man to escape would be increased. It would certainly offer her more than just a headache, and it was a decision that would be frowned upon, more so done by herself.

It was an act of cowardice, an act made out of emotions that triggered much of the past she had then chosen to forget. At some point, she'd have to face these monsters, and stalling wouldn't be of much help; in a sense, stalling would prolong the limbo they were currently in, and as much as she was concerned, she was very much over with this narrative, something she didn't ask to be a part of. A trick of fate, much how and what she was, much how her luck had turned out to be in the past few years. It was exhausting, and there was much too much to worry about than what had binded her; she'd very much prefer to use it as guidance as she went along with her life, not one thing that'd pull her back into an abyss of regret and what ifs.

It was time to move on-time to face the monsters that shadowed her chin up, spine straight, and with admiral eyes so cool.

Let it go.

The monarch had dragged herself out of her chambers with such short enthusiasm, everything becoming much of a blur as she narrowed in on the task that she had in hand. Breakfast had been a breeze as she had asked Gerda for it to be delivered in her study, Anna's absence something she wasn't willing to face, especially with such a decision she had at hand. She'd rather think things through in the presence of treaties and books, than have to dine in such a long table that only bowed to one. In the wake of her reunion with the princess, loneliness never really smoothened her appetite just as much as it had before.

In curved penmanship that most royals would ever dare dream to have, the queen had dealt with what letters she had received for the day. Writing correspondences, and signing off treaties with such haughty loops, and menacing intonations. A morning filled with duties that she had never wished to pass, duties that she had been prepared for the moment she blinked her eyes open, and welcomed the sight of the world beyond her. Duties that reminded her that she was more than a woman, but someone who bore the weight of more than just the crown, but of becoming the mother of her nation-her kingdom.

Her decisions, whatever it would entail, should always be made to reflect what she had in mind for what she was given to govern.

And Hans Westergaard, as much as she loathed the man and their given circumstances, was her liability. What she'd decide for his fate to be would reflect on her people. If she'd decide poorly, there'd be greater consequences, one she'd never forgive herself for.

A sigh had escaped her lips and the queen had straightened her back, spine angled against the back rest, forehead creased in weariness. The sun's glare had overcome what darkness the room had been envoloped in, touching the tips of the objects in faintness, contrary to how it boasted its dominance outside. Her admiral gaze had been directed towards the crystalline windows, and to the pastels that washed over the blue sky, losing herself in the morning's dance.

She didn't have much time to make a decision as she knew she would have to leave the confinement of her study in a few minutes. She had an idea of what she had wanted, and so far it had only included her distaste in letting him rot in one of the Arendellian cells. She figured that it was too easy of a life, and a punishment not well thought of; what she thought he'd deserve would have been something strenuous and troubling in equivalent to the inconvenience he had put she and her sister to.

She figured, as she graced the halls of her castle, that she'd have to think it through on her way to her council.

Clasped hands, tight lips, the queen passed empty halls in small steps, admiral gaze posed ahead, never faltering. She was like stone; resilient, outstanding, unabashed. But on the inside was so much more; there was a turbulence as she'd thought through of what was to become of the thirteenth prince, full of uncertainties and the weight of the crown, the emotional attachments barring her from making any coherent thought. In silence, she'd thought of the pros and cons, and went through certain circumstances of what every decision she made would entail.

She wanted to station him in the mountains, working for the Arendelle's official ice master, wasting away days upon days to slave for ice that could easily be accumulated in one flick of her wrist. At first, it was ideal, but having thought through of Kristoff's short temper and the rough-housing that would surely become of once he steps in their territory, the queen had dismissed the idea. A few cuts and bruises were acceptable, but if he were to tiptoe towards the cusp of the man's patience every time, a headache would ensue, something that'd force her to think of a vocation that'd suit him.

The queen had then thought of him as a royal guard, or an emissary within reach-much as Kai was, and even more. The sole purpose having to keep an eye on him, and to give him something of use, but then the thought of him in close proximity had churned her stomach. Moreover, he'd have the opportunity to seize her, even with how much of an advantage she held against him. And she certainly didn't want him to follow her around, not when she'd initially wanted to rid of him.

These were the only things she seemed to have settled with-and disregarded as it came-as she had come close to the room that held the eldlers. It elicited frustration out of her, one she had swallowed down as she clasped her svelte fingers around the knob and had turned it, pushing the door to come through. The chatters had immediately died down in her presence, and they stood in respect, regarding the monarch dressed in all regalia that entered to officially commence yet another meeting.

The queen, with all the grace she had been born with, had come forth the room, then stopping by the head of the table. Expectant eyes of different hues had watched her as she had sat down to her rightful seat as quietly as she can. Her hands rested atop the smooth mahogany, as she then exchanged glances of those appointed to guide her as she reigned.

"Gentlemen," she began, voice as cold and crisp as her admiral eyes, regarding them in nods, and a simple tilt of her head. "Good morning. We are aware that King Klaus and Prince Hans would be arriving in two days time, and that we've come to a certain dilemma where we must decide what to make of the punishment in equivalent to the crimes committed by the thirteenth prince of the Southern Isles. I am expected to come up with a decision, but I value your opinion; suggestions would be welcomed as long as it be done with appropriate rationale."

The elders had exchanged glances, prompting each to speak their mind, and to bring forth what had been spoken in her absence. Of course, Lords Mallory and Fredrik held opposition with was to be stated, as normal as most of their convocations go. On the other hand, the three had been bubbling in statements she had been sure would be contrary to whatever she or the others would impose.

"We suggest that we go on forth with decapitation as stated by the law as it is more fitting if we so choose not to deal with him further. A problem such as this would be easily eradicated," he paused as he glanced over at the queen, who had a brow so slightly raised and a chin tilted as a way to tell him to go on. "And, it would have been done as less inhumane as they had done so before. We can hold a private execution, and an announcement will then be made so as to avoid violence being witnessed by our people."

The queen didn't look so convinced, despite the lord having such a fine point. It would make things easier, but it didn't settle right with the monarch. King Agdår and Idunn hadn't believed in such execution, and had resorted to punishment by labour despite it being not much different-slavery was as much as grave as death as most people would have believed as both had dimmed potential-but it did open a door for redemption, for second chances. And if her father believed in him, then there may been more than deception, but that was ruled out to be ridiculous by Queen Elsa herself.

"I admit it's a decision your mother and father wouldn't have made, but I believe that it'd be easier."

"For him," the queen had stated, breaking the silence she'd offered. "If we were to resort to execution, the prince will be free of the consequences of his actions. That doesn't settle well with me as half a decade worth of imprisonment wouldn't appease to what he has done to this kingdom. We would be giving him something that he would have wanted, an easy way out. Moreover, the lot of you believed in traditions and laws that originated before I, so why should we dissuade ourselves from our very own practice of justice?"

"Then, what do you propose my queen?"

"That Prince Hans serves Arendelle's navy in the lowest of ranks with no promise of any ascension."

* * *

 **Author's note: I'm really sorry for taking quite so long to update! I've had the fourth chapter up on AO3 three days ago, but had quite some issues with FFnet. It won't let me upload the document.**

 **Anyway, I'm not sure if anyone's noticed, but I'm trying to adapt Daenerys Targaryen's character when writing Elsa. I see Elsa as strong as Dany, and perhaps, just as wise. Hans, may be Tyrion, but I'm not quite sure yet. I just use them as inspiration, blah blah blah.**

 **Happy reading and Merry Christmas!**


	6. five

**_"She_** stood in the storm,  
and when the wind did  
not blow her away, she  
adjusted her sails."

..

Elizabeth Edwards

* * *

Corona was a burst of the sun; heavenly, and painted in a number of colours in such carelessness and beauty. It glowered as it shined in the daylight, and it twinkled when the night blanketed its warmth with darkness. A place for optimists and dreamers; a place for redemption and happiness. It's a place meant for angels, and those mortals that managed to get through purgatory.

A place not meant for him. _Certainly_.

The flute and the organ boasted a promise he'd like to overlook as he was not sorry for the actions he had done. He doesn't regret any horrifying-or rather ambitious decisions, and he's not on the verge of going to confession to ask for forgiveness. No redemption would come as he wasn't looking to be redeemed; no matter who pulled, he'd plant his feet stubbornly upon the ground.

He doesn't understand the necessity of his attendance in a meeting that should be disclosed between higher ranking officials. He doesn't understand why he was dressed quite so and walking freely upon painted cobblestone of a very blissful kingdom (which he believed to be a façade; after all, no one could ever be _this_ happy), trailing behind the crowned queen and prince consort, and his brother. He's supposed to be in a cell, guarded by a number of sentries piled outside their labyrinth. Meant to rot, meant to be where he was sentenced to be; meant to wander what it was like to have the sun dance upon his skin, and meant to fester on hatred upon those who had forged a prince into a scum.

He doesn't know (or couldn't decide) whether it was foolishness or misplaced kindness the monarchs in this kingdom had. But he'd deduced them to be gullible. It was obvious that their naïveté and their fixature on books of tales with happy endings had led them into such a decision to make him feel as though he needed to be redeemed. Otherwise, what would have led them to this? What would have made them decide that a man who attempted regicide could be molded into a saint-that he was so malleable, a lost soul they were willing to kinder? It was quite ludicrous that such a relative of those he had done so horrid would grant him such liberty to walk without having his spine straightened by a tip of a spear. Comical, in so many ways that a laugh so hollow, so humourless had threatened to escape his mouth every time they glanced this way and attempted to converse!

Could it be that their bloodline had been full of fools?

Ah, but there's always an exception. The Snow Queen didn't strike him as a fool, but someone misguided that had become someone so cruel, cold, and so powerful. A woman who had grown so much and had known just what she ought to do. A woman who's managed to eliminate every trace of fear that dared clutter her conscience. He'd had a glimpse of her in court months after the incident that changed everything-that took everything from him; and she was beyond what she was before. It was why he took a liking into observing her, why he had regretted choosing the naïve princess over a cold queen, and why he chose to test her with his letters. He wanted to crack her walls, wanted to see if the exterior was hard enough, wanted to see if she was just as he was.

The Coronan palace was just as it was outside-a dash of optimism, of hope, of dreams, and of kindness that had given the room such an aura. It reminded him of the fiery princess he had attempted to marry, and wondered if such a kingdom existed or had he been sleeping in his cell in the armada all along. A terrible, terrible dream, he mused as he had been escorted back to where he was held-a room in the West Wing and surprisingly (but not quite so) not behind bars.

They were to sail to Arendelle in the afternoon right after Klaus would have finished settling negotiations with the Queen and the prince consort.

He's quite looking forward to it.

* * *

After the convocation in the afternoon, the queen had sought comfort in her study, going through what has been left of what she's already done earlier. They were mostly terms of agreement that she had already verbally agreed to, terms that only needed the curve and finery of her name, and the title of the crown. There were papers stocked beside her that had been devoted to proposals; most had been from her council, while the rest had been from those she had chosen from the cluster of eligible scholars-candidates to join her round table, or so she'd like to call it in reference to King Arthur.

Dutifully, the queen had read through and signed proposals-wrote correspondences for those that required her reply. Activity enough to distract her from the predicament that she had that'd come morning. Distraction enough to get her through to the afternoon, and to the moment the night would be blanketed by the darkness.

Some time later, her mind dared wander towards the fact that she was less a sister, and it'd come off as a menacing surprise when she'd come back from whence Kristoff had taken her. She'd thought of writing a letter, but she knew that it would ruin the enjoyment she had, turning something blissful into something ugly and sour. She didn't want her sister to come home so soon because of this, and she's convinced herself that Anna might have already known or have seen it coming. She was at the trial, after all. But, she knew Anna's mind tended to wander, though that had been abated by the reassurance that she might have listened as the trial was held for the man who'd left her to die. She might have been kind, but Elsa knew that somewhere within her, she sought vengeance, or say, justice.

. . .

In the evening, the queen sat lonesome at the head of the table, dining with a row full of emptiness. There had only been the occasional clank of the silverware (though very subtle) that had replaced Anna's flavourful and loud sentences, and laughter that coloured the silence. It hadn't been enough, and a part of her had wondered if she'd seem desperate if she had asked either Gerda or Kai to dine with her. Eventually, she had told herself that she managed to get through silence thirteen years of her life, and two days would have seemed like a second beside it. So, she dined and wined, then excused herself to retire early and that she didn't require any further assistance, dismissing the staff by eight.

She went by the library in the East Wing, hoping to find a suitable book to distract her from the urge to read another letter. She needed the walk, needed the movement to eradicate the restlessness and the nervousness that settled within her. She needed- _no_ , wanted to calm down before she'd end up turning a room into solid ice and tire herself (that could be an alternative, but she knew it wouldn't be wise. The last time she had done so, she had been out cold for a couple of days. Arendelle was a wreck when she'd woken up, and her sister aged ten years. It certainly cannot happen once more, not when there was much to deal with).

The queen had went by the gallery, and marvelled the paintings she knew her sister had used to talk to. She took every stroke, every vibrant colour, and every beauty in before she'd managed to bore herself, forcing her to head out to the library. Her mind wanted to think of something else, wanted to deal with something else, but she wouldn't allow it. Not when she's told herself that it was the last time, not when she promised not another word was to be read. She was raised with discipline, and she intended to be as disciplined as she held herself to be.

But, as she had narrowed through the halls, she's noticed that she'd gone the other way around. In such short musings, she's managed to end up in her quarters, shielded by her four walls, and left alone with the temptation underneath her bed.

A curse had escaped the queen's lips, admiral eyes rolled heaven-ward. The game the gods were playing had been cruel, and she was damned to have been foolish enough to allow herself to be led somewhere she didn't want to be.

Crystalline heels clicked against carpeted floors, leaving ice in its wake, sewing upon thread, and melting as fast as it came. There was a frown that pressed upon her features, easily becoming a scowl. Admiral eyes had become a shade darker and sharper, igniting a fire within over a dispute between reason and urge.

In reflection the ice beneath her heels had adapted the hue darker than her platinum threads; amber and an angry yellow had become one before it crumbled into a state of transparency, something she had associated to uncertainty long before.

A glance had been spared towards the space that boasted the darkness; the slant of the candlelight beside it highlighting the jewely box, sitting so lonesome, so tempting, urging her to come forth. Against her better judgment, she did.

Like a fragile infant, the queen had cradled the box, and had opened another of his thoughts to her world.

 _She had to know_ , she told herself.

* * *

 _Queen Elsa of Arendelle,_

 _The sky is painted in such a shade I hadn't had the chance to ever glance upon (or I may have simply forgotten, considering that this day would mark that I had been confined in darkness for a couple of years (that's not entirely true, but I'd like to believe that)). It's a stunning admiral, reminds me of those that you have beneath thin eyebrows, shielded by thick, dark lashes that fan against your pail cheeks (I still have yet to wonder how you had been able to have acquired such a dark hue when you're fantastically white!-an albino, I'm quite aware what they are called. But, I suppose that'd add to the mystery of how you were born with such magic. Had it been hereditary? Were the queen and king cursed? Ah, questions I'd have to remind myself to ask the moment I step onto the shores of Arendelle to receive Her Majesty's sacred punishment towards such an unforgiving sinner. Comical; something I quite look forward to)._

 _The King had decided that I should come with him as he'd sail towards the kingdom of Bjergen. An eligible princess had foolishly agreed to marry him, and the king and queen request his presence in courtship, of course. A prize, I suppose; to boast that he's managed to tame the thirteenth prince, the fiend that dared take both lives of the monarchs of Arendelle. A trophy-a battered one, should I say._

 _The princess can do better, though I suppose it was time that Klaus had married. He's forty-three without an heir, and without a bastard-that's concerning, but not that I'd dwell on it. He's dedicated in his obligations and duties-married as the commoners had then said. A man with his priorities on the welfare of the kingdom, cruel in the days when he'd been young, but not quite so as the others. Insults here and there, but I suppose, he's a man who cared._

 _Ah, that's quite a reach, isn't it? Or perhaps that invalidates my claim that my brothers were cruel and unforgiving. I have thirteen brothers, and the oldest ones had become cruel because of obliviousness as the younger ones had become cruel because of greed._

 _You might have thought that it was no wonder I attempted to murder both of you._

 _As I had said before, my intentions had been to woo you, to marry you. Your head was just an act out of desperation, and it wasn't such a bad idea either._

 _The sea is something I've missed. As a member of the navy-an admiral, I should say, I've been in voyages more than I could dare to remember. It was a form of home; a chance at tranquility, and a place where I have let my musings flow freely, allowing daydreams to come and stay within me. It was a living fantasy, a haven as I had been torn from the kingdom that had brought hell within me. A sanctuary._

 _The sea was just as magnificent as your palace in the mountains, and just as meaningful as it was to you and the sea as it was to me. A place without limitations; a place that bound me only to my duty, and had given me a chance to glimpse far ahead of me._

 _In my time in the vast seas, I had been graced with tales that I had found in books and had always held fascination to. Sirens, and mermaids-the Greeks distinguished the differences quite so. The precedent were those that lure our poor sailors to oblivion, and mermaids-nokken were those who rescue such poor unfortunate souls who'd managed to escape the peril the sirens had entailed._

 _A mad man had once told me about a kingdom underneath the sea, and had claimed that he had met such a maiden with a beautiful tail and hair as soft as silk. Neverland, a place where not a soul aged, and where these hybrids loved to stay in for a while. Playful beings, he said._

 _I suppose his massive raven mane had obscured his sightings and had forced him to ever conclude that a sea-lion was a woman with hair dangling effortlessly at the length of her back. Ludicrous! Perhaps, the excessive eye liner was proof enough that the man was bonkers._

 _Though, he seemed like a man to fit in the description of what a poet looks like. A silver tongue, fool._

 _Though mermaids may be a product of madness, I'd say sirens would most likely exist. Am I mad? Perhaps, but I've only come to the conclusion just now when I had looked back at the moment the nearby mountains had captivated me. They exist, but they do not traverse in seas; they do so on land. Evolved creatures, though I'd say it'd only be one for there was only a singular being I've met._

 _Queen Elsa, you are a siren. You've lured me into the death of boredom, and had me forced in your beck and call. I am a man lured to write a letter to you to appease the insipidity of my life. Pathetic. Though, I do commend you as I am a man so stubborn._

 _A siren, beneath it all. A cruel goddess and a tempest._

 _My, my. You are a novel character._

 _Hans Westergaard_

* * *

Her Highness had stood by the docks in the blink of the morning, the sun peering by the clouds that loomed lazily before it. Clasped hands, chin held high as she had anticipated the arrival of an enemy, the arrival of a man that challenged her more than she had done so herself. Calm as the ocean before her, she held her pride, not a nerve spiking, not an ounce of fear taking her ability to withstand the storm that was to arrive in a few minutes. An epitome of stoicism, a woman who knew her value, and knew where she'd plant her feet, knew the gravity of her actions.

The armada had docked, and admiral hues had watched as they had prepared it in its stationary position. Men in uniform had effectively tended to its sails, adjusting it to accommodate its current state. The others had lined up a plank for its passengers to descend on, as her men had assisted in all they can.

Beside her, Lord Mallory and Lord Frederick stood with expectancy, visages guarded as hers had been. The rest of the members had waited within the castle for the eventual meeting that was to come after, and she was glad that such a decision was made. Their whispered words she knew would have passed through their lips were unwanted, especially at such an event like this.

In fine regalia, the King of the Southern Isles had stepped down, chin held high and shoulders squared. Behind him, had been a couple of sentries before Hans Westergaard had stepped foot with the audacity of a man she's read in his letters. There was no sense of irascibility she's felt when she's glanced upon the man behind the words, already braced with his nature by the careful reading she's done.

He was an open book, and it was easy to determine that this man held pride in what he had done-and if not pride, he had held accountability. And though in another time it would have vexed her, this time she had remained calm, expecting what was to be exchanged or what he was to say to her.

"King Klaus, Prince Hans," she had greeted, stepping forward, a smile curving up her lips.

Both men with russet hair stood so gallantly before her; the king had spared her a glance of sincerity as the other had given her a look she could account for mockery.

"A meeting shall take place before I let you settle in your quarters as protocol goes." She had added, voice every bit of placid as the smile had narrowed to a thin line.

"Of course, Your Majesty." The King had responded as he had dipped his slightly in modesty. "Though forgive me for taking liberty in presenting my brother in such a fashion."

"There is no need, Your Highness. It'd save me the time to scrub off five years of imprisonment from him."

"Ah, for what exactly is the need to do such task, I dare ask?" An auburn brow was raised, lip pulled by the side and disappearing in the fathoms of his beard.

"Why, the sentence I have in mind." The Snow Queen countered so easily. "Come, there is more to discuss."

* * *

 **Author's note: I'm absolutely thankful for the reviews I have received. Thank you so much!**

 **Anyway, finally, _finally_ , Elsa and Hans' paths have finally crossed. You can see how much they've already affected one another-curiosity wise, of course. And, it seems that Hans' past is slowly unraveling, giving us a small glimpse of the Westergaard household. I'm sure you've thought that this is a little Helsa centric, but I promise to include both Anna and Kristoff some time soon. This is a filler chapter, by the way, that's why it's shorter, and less descriptive as I might have preferred.**

 **Also, the chapter's inspired by Santino's character in Crazy Ex-Girlfriend-Greg Serrano. I recommend that you watch it. It's quality TV and really relatable.**

 **Happy New Year and happy reading! Also, if you'd like, follow me on twitter: /Vedcva**


	7. six

_**"I**_ am a lioness.  
I will not cringe for them."

..

Cersei Lannister,  
A Song Of Ice and Fire  
—George R. R. Martin

* * *

Her heels clicked behind her, a symphony to accompany her as she departed away from the docks, as she ignored the man who walked behind her as though not a weight of the world was on his shoulders. There was indignation that settled, that stirred her when she'd chance a look at the king and come to glance upon the man with viridiscent hues staring, boring holes on her spine, smirking like he was proud of the actions that had pointed him towards this direction.

She had to remind herself that he was. He told her himself, or at least a part of him did.

With such a simple look, it seemed as though the prince had been taunting her to tell how she had given in and ignored better judgment. Questioning her well orchestrated act of resilience by reminding her of the dent she had, of the hole he'd managed to get through to be able to settle underneath her skin. It was unnerving, but the queen had known better, and faced far more iniquitous demons, even drank wine with them.

He wasn't special.

Svelte fingers clasped about the front of her lilac skirts, admiral gaze pinned ahead. No conversation had flown in the silence for there was not much to say on her part. The King of the Southern Isles had been here enough to know the castle's embellishments; he'd known which painting was hung and what it was for. He knew reason beyond it, and even had known more than what wasn't naturally said in casual banter between monarchs. They were friends once—a friendship developed in grim when they'd become acquainted because of his brother's miscreant deed towards the Arendellian sisters. But it died fast for not a soul kept in touch, and for a circumstance neither would ever speak of unless acquainted with wine and solitude.

"Your Majesty," at that, Elsa's footsteps had halted, and she had turned her head quite so to accommodate the king's indulgence in conversation. "Is that a new painting? I believe I haven't seen it before."

Admiral hues flickered towards the small canvas of her by the distant wall that extended to the East Wing. It was simple, but strikingly more grand than the others that had seen the years unfold before them. It was a painting she'd bought in the town's market when she had graced each stall for inventory. Anna tagged along, and was the one that had pointed her towards the direction of an old woman with an easel in hand, svelte and wry fingers curled about the edges of the canvas. She'd bought it the moment her eyes laid on it, and had offered the elder an opportunity to paint for the royal family—not necessarily portraits, she'd assured; she wanted whatever she'd be able to paint, thus the story behind the various masterpieces hung about Her Majesty's study.

"I bought it in town." She replied, roseated lips curving into a soft smile at the fond memory. "The artist is brilliant. I have most of her collection in my study."

A thick, auburn brow had been raised at that, emerald eyes glinting in that of mischief as the man tried to fight off the smirk that was gnawing its way to his thin lips.

"You're a good Samaritan, aren't you, Queen Elsa?"

And so the devil had spoken with voice as soft as silk and a timbre she'd imagined he'd have as she read his letters. She'd sworn she'd heard a hiss at the end of the sentence, had sworn that his eyes had become a shade darker-sharper. If laced with alcohol and contrasted by only the faint light of the moon in the midst of darkness, she would have seen thorns upon the expanse of his forehead. This man was the devil, and the devil was taunting her.

"I don't believe so." The glare the king had chanced upon his brother had gone ignored by the queen, who stood tall despite what the prince was insinuating. She was impregnable. She will not yield.

This caused the man to tilt his head in query, but before he could dare ask anything further, the king had elbowed him by the arm the moment the queen turned her back.

Silence had once again fallen, footfalls softened by the tufted floorboards, providing little noise. The communal area where the convocation was to be held was of short distance, and in no time had they been able to reach their destination without further attempts to converse. Behind her, the prince had continued to glance as though she was water in the desert—thirsty for a glimpse of who she truly might be behind the walls she had brought up. The king basked in stoicism as did the Arendellian regal who stood tall amongst the elders, chin held high and hands clasped neatly at the front.

As they entered, voices had died down, and no whispers had enveloped the silence. In unison, they stood and bowed as though they were soldier than men of rank, of those who had held wisdom. Lords Mallory and Frederik had regained their seats adjacent one another, standing in regard to royalty before sitting with the rest, whose heads had been turned as they had expected for the queen to speak.

"My lords," she had began, and Prince Hans was enchanted with the power it had held.

This could have been him.

With grace, the queen had assumed the head of the table; the prince and the king taking seats beside her as though they were to negotiate something of business than the rest of the fiend's trial. Her admiral gaze had never touched the prince, but it had floated about the room before settling above the chair at the other end—the chair he had known would have been assumed by a prince consort had she been wed.

That could have been him.

"We are gathered here to negotiate with the King of the Southern Isles the punishment Prince Hans is to take to be able to finish his sentence." The Snow Queen had stated in formality, tone crisp and cold—distant.

She was as she was as he had imagined her to be. Perhaps better now that he's granted the opportunity to view her as such than to hold onto imagination. A minx who held so much power, and had known how to exercise it. If he had made a different approach, would he have been by her side and would witness it in a different light? Would he be granted the same power she held at the tips of her fingers? Perhaps. The queen knew skill when she saw it, and she was trusting to those that surrounded her. Princess Anna, though lacking of any interest in the game of thrones, had been given a seat in the council. Her judgment was valued albeit most of the time it wasn't favourable or wise.

Oh, what opportunity he's managed to let slip away from his fingers.

"The thought of execution had been entertained, but disregarded for it would remove the essence of declining the initial death penalty proposed in court. And, my parents believed that it is not humane.

But that's beside the point. I've thought that death would be an easier escape from the sufferings meant for him. It does not evoke justice."

Both verdant hues had been flickered her way, heads tilted as her council had remained silent, having known of the outcome of this meeting. The older monarch's features had been written with relief, creases completely laxed, mouth though formed in a straight line had been ghosted with what appeared to be a smile. And though the king had seemed to be pleased, the rapscallion had been graced with the look of confusion and disgust. The winter minx had waited for any sort of retaliation, but it has appeared to be that his manners had shone through—ingrained in every fibre, but the queen knew that he will speak in his time, maybe when they're out of the corner of the eye; whenever, she expected it as his letters were both intriguing and informative—it had prepared her for this specific circumstance.

That may be, she had still felt guilt ugly head rearing.

"The prince shall serve my kingdom's navy without any promise of ascension. You will not be treated like a man of worth, but a man with a debt to be paid. Your opinion will not hold any value; and though you shall stay within the castle to be kept an eye on, you will not be treated greater than nor equal the stewards, but like a man with blood in his hands, and a collar around his neck."

The queen's gelid glance flitted over to the ne'er-do-well, thick lashes fanning over blue, its ends tickling the skin beneath her eye. Her lips had been formed downwards, a purse to be interpreted that she was disgusted, that she was not pleased with him nor will she ever be.

"Your Majesty," he opened those thin lips, and no mock had come forth in his tone. No scowl had marred his features, but curiosity had glimmered within his irises. "I am quite curious how you'd come to this decision. Per chance, had you been hoping for redemption?"

Fire was sent from across the table, the king's indignation clear though composed. Knuckles went white as fingers had tightened themselves by the palm to form a fist; a sentence was threatening to be let out, but one that had been swallowed when the queen had raised a hand.

"No," she answered, never faltering. Gone was the woman who shivered, who feared what she was capable of. Gone was the woman that was dust beneath the facade—she was fire, she was ice. She was resilient enough to face the devil, and to answer without a stammer, without a glimmer of fear in her eyes. When the devil taunted, she moved her pawn, and stood tall. "Such a fool would hope for the impossible."

The man swallowed, but a smirk had shown through. He was pleased that she was exactly what he had been expecting—even more. He leaned back, heels brushing the fur above floorboards, and he continued to watch like a spectator.

A strong woman beyond heads of men who questioned every bat of her eyelash, who dismissed her and interrupted her in every possible way. No frustration had shone through, and no crack had emerged upon her walls as they had pushed her. She pushed back with more force, less of the wind, and more of the storm. She braved their questions as they negotiated, and she turned a cold shoulder when they tried to make her seem miniscule in her own crown.

He was awed as she deflected, captivated by her words of wisdom that had been carried by a certain air a queen can only acquire. He was right when he had compared her to a siren, right when he had dismissed her to be a goddess—a tempest.

She knew her power, and she exercised it without the need to consult with someone else. She knew how to hold them by their necks, and introduce them to a fire she had within her. She knew how to put her foot down, and to raise her chin. She was capable enough to get what she wanted—maybe even more.

He was envious.

The convocation ended in satisfactory terms for the resident monarch, dismissing everyone in cold, and in authority. The king was escorted by the steward with the itinerary of his stay as for he had been directed back to the docks to pay for his actions as a slave to the navy. A wet rag, much to his displeasure. But, he has faced enough literal horse shit to complain, and had been spat on by those who looked down on him. A slave in sea wasn't anything new, but not entirely familiar as he served as an admiral than of a scum.

He'd live, and he supposed that was the downside of it all.

* * *

The light faded into darkness as evening had settled, and the moon had reclaimed its reign amongst the stars. She had dined with the King in silence, and had wondered how she'd be able to tell Anna of the sudden changes, the necessity of a fiend to join them in dinner and in their home. She knew it'd be difficult given that she kept it a secret for a few days and had opted to tell her when it had already happened. Secrets had been the downfall of their relationship, and she hoped that a repeat wouldn't occur once more for she knew not how to deal with it now that she had seen light and depended on her sister's companionship. This was beneficial for the kingdom, but not much within the personal lives of both queen and princess.

The occasional scrape of cutlery upon porcelain had been the only thing that eneveloped the awkward silence that encompassed the ambiance. It was irksome for Elsa was used to vibrancy, having been acquainted with Corona and the rest of the kingdoms that valued conversation. But, given their past, both of them had been treading in dangerous waters. None of them were willing to break the ice lest they may touch something fragile that could jeopardize negotiations that would benefit both their kingdoms. And so, their friendship then had been forgotten—a cherished memory instead of a bond.

They parted ways the same way they had dined—in silence and soft bids of good night. The queen had toyed with the idea of paperwork, but had it forgone as she had decided that it was time to let Anna know of the circumstances that had transpired within her absence. She'd thought it to be fair as she was affected by the events as much as she was, and the position she had held in the council, though she refused to attend most meetings.

The queen had disappeared into her quarters, where she'd kept a quill and a parchment in case. The faint light of candles lit had slanted across the expanse of a solemn room, almost as strong as the luminescence of the silver moon that stared down at mortals such as she. She had taken a seat by the desk she'd kept by the window, and had written in perfect calligraphy.

* * *

 _My dearest Anna,_

 _I've written this letter to inform you of the circumstances I have come across in the duration of your absence. I am quite fine, and there's nothing to be worried about when concerned about my well-being. Arendelle is as it was as you have left it, although fate has been quite cruel when it reminded me of the decree I had settled in court half a decade ago._

 _Prince Hans has returned in our shores to face half of his sentence. He arrived alongside with his brother earlier in the morn. As negotiated, he is to serve as a man in debt and not as a prisoner. This being said, I had decided that he shall serve our navy in the lowest of ranks. Though do not worry, I had made sure that ascension would be impossible despite his efforts. Redemption, if you have thought that I have considered it, had been disregarded for such a fool would only think of the impossible and hope for such a vile man to rise upon the occasion._

 _There's so much more than this, but I would like to discuss it with you the moment you have returned to Arendelle. Please do not cut your trip short for this matter. I am quite capable of protecting myself, and I know better._

 _Your sister,_  
 _Elsa_

* * *

The queen had instructed her loyal steward to deliver the short letter to the post and had resigned herself in a bath to alleviate what stress had weighed her shoulders down. She had meant to draw the curtains of her night into a close by spending an hour nestled in the warmth of scented water and with nothing but solemnity crowding her—then to lay on her bed with a blank mind, and a promise of a dreamless sleep. But, once her admiral gaze had landed upon the jewelry box upon her boudoir, she had relented to the urge with little hesitation, which was concerning to say the least.

Now, Her Majesty's silver hair had hovered above pale shoulders and covered the tops of her breasts, as she sunk further into the water, the scent of Jasmine wafting. In her hands had been the letter she had randomly plucked out of the casement as her blue eyes had been focused on the words relayed in such finery and flower.

* * *

 _Elsa—that sounds informal, but it has a certain ring to it, and it rolls out of my tongue wonderfully like a melody. It's nonchalant as though I've known you or bore any personal connection. I wonder, if I had pursued you, would I be able to call you as such in the confinement of our shared quarters? Would I be able to map out your name in your skin? In boredom, I've imagined you repeating my name in breathless whispers without the title of a prince before it. My name laced in love as I exchanged yours in such a fashion—ah, this has turned comedic and thoroughly inappropriate._

 _But, what's certainly new?_

 _A bored man takes time to think creatively in fashions that went on from appropriate to its countering word. And, must you not flatter yourself for it is not only you that had become the subject of my musings. There were other women of nobility, and others I have simply found aesthetically pleasing._

 _What a nasty man, I suppose you must think. But dear, I am merely a mortal man, and it is in my nature to venture on such thoughts when encountered admiration and boredom. Have I done so far by pleasuring myself? That I have not, and something I do not intend to engage in for I have better things to do and a sentence to face thanks to you._

 _The mind of a writer as one would say—an artist as one would think. I'd say it is a mind of a criminal subjected in humiliation and only the cast of sunlight or the luminescence of the moon._

 _I now understand why criminals are horribly lascivious. Ah, but that is not the point of the letter. The point is—well, I have none, to be exact. This merely serves as a journal, and to further push your buttons to see how far I'd crack your exterior, revealing who and what you truly are. Call it curiosity or iniquity, I do not mind._

 _Well, that defeats the purpose of making you wonder as to why I'm constantly wasting ink and paper. Defeats the purpose of my intentions, but Queen Elsa, what do you think are my intentions?_

 _Perhaps, I've only stated that this was written out of boredom to further confuse you with such a straightforward answer. Perhaps, I've stated this to make it seem as though I am willing to end this charade, to make you expect that this will be the last of it. But will it?_

 _In other matters, I wonder when shall I be acquainted of what's beneath your skin—is it a monster? is it a shivering little girl?—Ah, what mystery your life holds! But I stand true to to my word, true to my conclusion that you are as much as I, dealt with greater cards, but broken within. Shards within, and in time it will protrude as much mine had, and we will meet eye to eye—men with such likeness, and perhaps you'd understand why I am as I am._

 _And as Cordelia had mentioned,_

 _"Time shall unfold what plighted cunning hides:_

 _Who cover faults, at last shame them derides." **1**_

 _I look forward to seeing a better version of my reflection in time if fate shall allow us to meet._

 _Yours truly,_  
 _Hans Westergaard_

* * *

 **Author's note: 1: Derived from Shakespeare's King Lear; the passage was delivered by Cordelia.  
** **I would like to apologize for taking time to write this chapter, and if it is too dragging. I have been writing this for two weeks, having been caught in between my busy schedule and my lack of muse. Hans' letter has lost a bit of substance, but I suppose their short interactions can compensate for that error.  
** **I am thankful for the reviews I have received; they're all wonderful and I appreciate them so much. If you fancy following me on any social media to somehow interact since I couldn't quite figure how conversing works around here, do follow me on twitter: /Vedcva | wattpad: frozenpapers. I'm not quite sure if links work here as well.**


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